It was about to begin.
The entrance exams of the Demon King Academy were set to start, and the stadium buzzed with energy. Massive and elliptical in design, the structure allowed for continuous, unobstructed seating. Tiered rows rose to a height of sixteen feet, encircling the central battlefield like a coliseum made for gods.
At the right wing of the arena sat the fifty aspirants. Despite their number, the division among them was undeniable. On one side, the pure-blooded demons—known as the Royals—sat together in their signature purple and black robes, eyes filled with pride. Opposite them, dressed in white, were the hybrids, including Dravok. There was no official rule enforcing this divide. Yet the nature of things spoke louder than laws ever could.
At the highest peak of the arena loomed the skybox—closed off from the world, its judges hidden from view. In the center of the battlefield, the polished ground shimmered with ancient magic. Not a single scratch marked its surface, as if even time dared not stain it.
Tension coiled in the air, thickest in the corner where the hybrids sat. Some wore brave faces, radiating confidence. Others had made more than one trip to relieve themselves already. Dravok sat at the lowest tier, closest to the battlefield. He wasn't afraid—he was focused.
One thing was certain in his mind.
'Today, I'll etch the name of the hybrids into memory.'
Murmurs filled the stadium—aspirants trading boasts and nervous laughter. Some plotted how they'd humble a royal if fate match them together. Others joked about skipping preparation, relying solely on "demon strength" to carry them through.
But Dravok didn't speak. He studied. Observed. The crowd, the field, the air itself. He felt the presence of someone familiar—close, yet just out of reach. He couldn't place it.
Then she entered.
From the main gate strode a woman who could only be described as regal. Her demonic eyes glinted like she had waited centuries for this moment. Mature horns jutted toward the sky like they sought the secrets of the sun. Blood-red hair flowed over her hips, long and wild as though untouched by scissors.
"The exams are about to start," she announced, voice soft but laced with danger. "So steel your guts. Or you'll piss your legacy away before the first swing."
She stepped fully into view, her presence commanding silence.
"I am lady Elizabeth. Demon of royal blood. And I will be your arbiter for today."
Dravok's eye twitched.
Why do they always have to overemphasize this 'royal blood' thing? he thought, his gaze flicking toward the sealed skybox.
Elizabeth continued, her confidence sharp and clear.
"Today, there will be three contests: the test of combat, the test of mana, and the test of strength."
A fresh wave of tension swept the arena. Dravok's eyes suddenly met someone in the crowd.
Mia.
She was trembling. Her body still carried fear from the massacre the day before, but she hadn't noticed him yet.
Elizabeth's tone shifted.
"Rules are as usual: make your opponent surrender, knock them unconscious, or trap them in a spell they can't break. That earns you a point. As for killing…, not allowed" She paused, inhaling deeply, like a bomb was about to drop.
"Lastly, Hybrids will not be allowed to participate in this year's entrance exams."
Silence.
Then chaos.
The hybrids erupted in protest. The royals, meanwhile, grinned smugly, hurling taunts across the divide.
But then—he stood up.
Dravok stepped forward and into the battlefield, his voice cutting through the noise.
"And who gave that order?"
Elizabeth flinched slightly, caught off guard by Dravok's presence.
"The Fifth Elder," she replied. "He said the Demon King's title is meant for pure demons. No resources should be wasted on hybrids."
"Then bring your best," Dravok said, his mana beginning to surge. "I'll show you how hybrids surpass royals."
Elizabeth opened her mouth, but a new voice interrupted her—loud, commanding, and impossible to ignore.
"I'll take you on."
Every gaze turned—not to the royal stands—but to the skybox.
Hope shattered.
Hearts fell.
"If he loses....stay nothing—just weak, forgotten shadow" a hybrid mummured, as if fate had already passed judgement.
Even Mia couldn't contain her scream, muffling it with her hands.
Descending from above was none other than the Fifth Elder himself. The fifth pillar beneath the Demon King.
Zoro Anzem.
He landed on the battlefield like a meteor in human form, radiating both authority and chaos.
"Never thought I'd see you again, old friend," Dravok smirked.
"Watch your mouth, fallen king," Zoro spat. "I'm not friends with the weak."
"You forget your place," Dravok replied coldly. "You were once my subordinate."
"Not after you sacrificed yourself a thousand years ago. That was the act of a coward."
Gasps rippled through the arena. Some clutched their chests, the tension threatening to rip their hearts apart. Others grinned wildly, believing this would be the day the line between royals and hybrids would be forever drawn.
Dravok scanned the arena once more. His eyes met Mia's—still covering her mouth, eyes wide in horror.
She shook her head.
'Don't do it'.
But Dravok didn't answer.
His gaze returned to Zoro.
"I don't fight pointlessly," he muttered.
"Then let's give it purpose," Zoro said. "You win—I'll allow all the hybrids into the academy. But if I win… they're banned, and you remain under my command, thats if you'll still have a breath of life by then."
"Sounds fair," Dravok shrugged. "What makes you think you can beat me, though?"
"Don't overestimate yourself, weakling. You've spent a thousand years trapped in a ring. I've grown every single day."
Dravok's smirk turned sharper.
"You still haven't learned."
"I won't fight you unarmed." Zoro grinned.
Just then, a shadow bolted in from the left entrance. A familiar figure tossed a blade.
Drake.
Dravok caught it by the hilt with perfect timing. He gave his dad a glance of thanks, then turned back to Zoro.
"No excuses now."
"I never planned to back down," Zoro replied. "And just so you know—our fight isn't bound by the Fourth Law. I will kill you, Dravok."
"Is that a threat?" Dravok asked.
"No. It's a promise. Shadow Seal."
Zoro chanted, his hands moving with deadly precision. A black veil enclosed the battlefield—transparent from the inside, completely obscured from the outside.
"I taught you that spell," Dravok muttered.
"Yes. But I've evolved it."
Blue aura exploded from Zoro, cracking the ground beneath his feet.
"This veil drains your mana every second."
Then he charged—blindingly fast.
BOOM.
Their blades collided, crackling with ancient force. Dravok hadn't even moved an inch.
Zoro swung a kick, but Dravok vanished—teleporting behind him in a blink. Zoro retreated, creating space.
"You're holding back," he snarled.
Dravok smiled like a predator humoring its prey.
Zoro's breath came heavy—not from exhaustion, but from raw fury. He let his blade fall. But instead of hitting the ground, it sank—like being swallowed by a silent swamp.
He chanted in a whisper that shook the veil.
"VELCRUX."
Dravok's eyes lit up.
"So, he's going all out. Interesting"
A storm erupted inside the seal.
The wind howled. Dust burst. The arena floor cracked like a meteor had struck it. When the storm cleared—what stood in Zoro's place was something monstrous.
His full demon form.
Twisted horns curled like that of a ram. His third eye floated in a protruding arm from his chest. His skin, once green, now a parched, cracked moss. His face was hidden under a white cloth, his real face resting below his third arm—hollow-eyed, silent, and pale. His limbs were stripped to bone.
Outside the veil, the sky turned black. Panic erupted in the stands.
Inside, it was war.
The two clashed again—steel against steel, spell against spell. The battle was flawless—an immortal dance. Cuts appeared, small and fleeting. But Dravok wasn't done.
Then—
SQUELCH.
A blade pierced Dravok's chest.
Zoro grinned, breath ragged. A crooked smile spread across his face, like he'd just conquered the world.
"One thousand years ago," he rasped, forehead pressed to the dirt, "all you ever stood for was peace—like a mother weeping over dead children." His voice trembled, but not from weakness. "Your softness burned through me. Every breath since then, every second, I've craved the moment I could kill you."
He laughed—low and bitter.
"Each sparring session we had, I went all out. I swung for your heart every time. But I never reached it."
Zoro slowly raised his head, eyes locking onto Dravok's face.
He was smiling.
Still.
Dread pierced Zoro's spine like frost. The man before him—no, the monster—was smiling with a sword in his chest.
Blood dripped from the wound.
Then it began to melt the blade.
Searing crimson hissed as it devoured the metal, turning the once-proud weapon into steam and dust.
Zoro staggered backward. His skeletal limbs trembled.
Dravok straightened his spine, the flame in his eyes burning brighter.
He exhaled calmly.
"Now," he whispered, voice like a vow, "we begin."